


Regular Florence Nightingale

by Udunie



Series: Tumblr prompts [44]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 22:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16941774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: Stiles had to admit, that at first, he had no idea what the problem was. All he knew was that he was sitting in Derek's loft, with all his friends accounted for - and in cheerful spirits too, thanks to their recent victory - and still, he felt a certain sense of... wrongness.It took him until he was stuffing the last slice of pizza into his mouth to finally realize what he was missing."Whous whoutr? he asked Derek, who just gave him some very unimpressed eyebrow game, so Stiles chewed a bit more before he tried again."Where's Peter?"





	Regular Florence Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> this is for @nbwerewolflover on tumblr, who won my weekly fanfic giveaway!
> 
> All my love to Emma! <3

Stiles had to admit, that at first, he had no idea what the problem was. All he knew was that he was sitting in Derek's loft, with all his friends accounted for - and in cheerful spirits too, thanks to their recent victory - and still, he felt a certain sense of... wrongness.

It took him until he was stuffing the last slice of pizza into his mouth to finally realize what he was missing.

"Whous whoutr? he asked Derek, who just gave him some very unimpressed eyebrow game, so Stiles chewed a bit more before he tried again.

"Where's Peter?"

Derek shrugged.

"Making trouble somewhere, I imagine, or bidding on a Sisley. One of the two."

Huh. Stiles didn't know Peter was into impressionists, he looked more like a cubist guy. But still, his brain kept insisting that Peter was 'missing', and he just couldn't shake it off.

***

It took him two more days to give in and use his dad's password to figure out where Peter lived. It was surprisingly easy - his car had been ticketed on not one, not two, but  _ four  _ times parking in front of a fire hydrant. Right next to Beacon Hills' most classy apartment building of course. Stiles wasn't surprised.

He waited until Friday afternoon to head over, and had an easy enough time sneaking in and find the apartment he wanted. 

Stiles knocked, and then waited. And then waited some more.

"I saw your car outside, I know you're here." Nothing. "Also, I can just... pick the lock, you know?" he said after getting tired of the bullshit. Peter might like his privacy, but this was a bit too much.

When he could still hear no movement?  _ Then  _ he started to actually worry.

Thankfully, he wasn't full of empty threats. He wasn't the Sheriff's son for nothing, and it only took him about two minutes to work the lock on Peter's door open.

He didn't expect to find Peter's place so... homely; full of books, and throw cushions on the couch... And he didn't expect the trail of blood leading from the front door to what he imagined to be the bathroom.

Stiles found him lying face-down on the tiles, buck naked and with some really nasty looking... thorn-things standing out of his back. 

" _ Oh my god _ ." He wasn't sure he wouldn't faint. He wasn't sure... Thankfully Peter took that moment to grunt, his whole body jerking. It pushed Stiles into motion, and he knelt, turning the man to his side, careful of his injuries.

 

"Peter?" he asked, voice breaking a bit, because shit... he was so pale. So fucking pale.

He didn't get an answer, so he dug his phone out of his pocket, ready to call Derek, or someone. Before he could hit dial, Peter moved, slapping it out of his hand, his eyes blazing blue.

"No... No calling."

Stiles looked at the broken remains of his phone in the corner.

"You owe me so much already, you asshole."

***

It took about an hour to get Peter de-thorned, cleaned, and into bed, and by that time? Stiles was fucking exhausted. He had no idea how hard it was to move a full-grown and only barely conscious man around.

But he did it. The bandages around Peter's torso looked a bit... sad. Like he made a bad attempt at a mummy costume for Halloween, but he wasn't leaking blood anywhere, so that was good enough for Stiles.

"Okay," he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. God, he wasn't sure he’d gotten this sweaty after running suicides. Finstock would be proud. "I’ll go now. And I will check back tomorrow, okay?"

Peter blinked one eye open, and scooted back with a wince that made Stiles wince in sympathy.

"You can sleep here," he murmured, making his heart stutter in his chest. Just a bit.

"I... um. I. What?"

"Your father has the night shift, right?"

Stiles rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I don't think I want to know why you know that. Or  _ how _ ," he said, but... he had already made up his mind. Quickly, he got rid of his jeans and his shirt, not letting himself think too much about it.

Just a normal day. Getting ready to sleep with a grown man. At least he was pretty sure Peter wasn’t in a good enough shape to try anything. 

The bed was warm, even without them touching. Too warm, but he started to relax immediately. He realized he had never wanted to go... to just walk out the door and leave Peter in such a state. Not after how he looked when he’d found him, lying half dead on the floor.

Just as he was falling asleep, he felt the man move a little closer, his breath hot on the nape of his neck, making him shiver.

"What would you have done if I didn't come?" he asked, the thought just occurring.

Peter didn't reply, just made a half-hearted growly noise. It made Stiles want to bang his head against the nearest wall.

"Let me guess, you would have rather died than call for help? The fact that you're the smartest person I know is  _ depressing _ ," he moaned, but by the time he finished the sentence, he was already half asleep.

***

Stiles woke up surprisingly refreshed, despite not having his pillow with him. That was a rarity. Peter was still sleeping, spread out on his belly. The bandages on his back were dotted with red on a few places, and the sight of them made his belly clench. 

But he  _ did  _ look better. There was a little color in his cheeks, and he seemed to be breathing normally. Stiles didn’t want to think about how long he stood by the bed, just watching Peter’s back rise and fall.

He wanted to think he wasn’t the creep in their little duo…

He made himself busy, getting a cup of coffee to steel himself first before heading to the bathroom to clean up. The blood dried on the floor looked a bit like rust, and Stiles kept telling himself it was just that while he got a mop.

Maybe it was his brain’s way of distracting him, but he found himself returning to his previous train of thought. Thinking of the two of them - of him and Peter - as a duo felt… surprisingly natural. Then again, they were the ones usually left behind. One would say they were backup, if one was kind. But yeah. More like baggage. Nobody trusted Peter in a fight, and nobody trusted Stiles’ squishy, human body anywhere near one either.

And that often left them together, waiting for the pack to come back from whatever mess they had to deal with, like a pair of southern belles, wondering if their men will ever return from the war…

Well, no. Peter usually acted like he didn’t give a fuck, but Stiles was on to him, and knew by now that he only did it to get Stiles riled up and into some silly argument.

It was their ‘thing.’

And probably the reason why nobody else noticed or cared about Peter’s absence. Which was a sad thought.

It was sad enough that Stiles decided to make pancakes, because pancakes always made everything better. It was the rule of the law.

“Is that smell real, or am I dreaming?” Peter asked from the depths of the bedroom just when he was finished, and Stiles couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the sound of his voice. 

Peter had been almost completely silent yesterday, and it had freaked him the  _ fuck  _ out.

“I haven’t yet decided if I want to share,” he shot back. “Depends on how well you behave while I change your bandages,” he said, cackling at the way Peter just groaned in defeat.

***

Peter looked like a scaled up pin cushion. The wounds on his back were not healed yet, some of them having angry, red rings around them, but they did look loads better than yesterday. Stiles carefully ran his finger around one of them, making the muscles in the man’s back jump.

“Shit, sorry, does that hurt?” he asked, snatching his finger back like he’d been burned.

Peter shot him an accusing glare over his shoulder.

“It doesn’t hurt when you’re not poking it!”

Stiles held his hands up placatingly and broke out a new roll of gauze.

“Okay, okay, just checking,” he murmured. Peter helpfully got up on his elbows to let him wrap the bandages around his chest. Stiles… tried not to touch him much. Tried no to stare. But it was a bit hard. Deep puncture wounds notwithstanding, Peter had a very…  _ nice  _ back. And shoulders. And… everything.

He worked as quickly as he could, if only so he wouldn’t embarrass himself with a totally uncalled-for boner.

Still, he couldn’t help patting Peter on the ass - just once - when he was finished.

“All done.”

Peter smirked at him, rubbing his stubbly face into the pillow, like he could somehow tell that it was doing things to Stiles.

“Thank you, darling. Will you be bringing breakfast to bed too?” he asked, blinking at Stiles with enough fake innocence to make him roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> for now, you can find me on tumblr at udunie.tumblr.com, but soon I will move fully to pillowfort under the same name!
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked it!


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